


Le Roi est mort, vive la Reine

by austenfan1990



Series: And Then They Came For Us [3]
Category: Babylon (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon, Sexual References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz has resigned, Finn is now Director of Comms. Yet on his first day in his new post, he somehow finds himself at Heathrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Roi est mort, vive la Reine

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my hard drive for some time now and seeing that I probably won't be able to fit it into a longer (not to mention coherent and meaningful) narrative, I've decided to post it here by itself. 
> 
> Apologies for not giving the specifics of how/why Liz resigned...I'm such a lazy sod, it's embarrassing. :|

Finn gapes at the departure screen, struggling to digest the very simple fact that Liz is gone. Her plane has gone. She’s on her way to San Francisco and leaving him behind with the Met, Inglis, and the whole PR department. It’s what he’s always wanted, right? But strangely, all Finn can focus on is the fact that Liz has left him.

Liz. Has. Left. _Him_.

Instead of feeling elated, he’s the complete opposite. He’s not happy. He’s miserable. He wants to sit on the floor and stare at the screen until it tells him – somehow – that it’s made a mistake.

Finn is about to crumple to the ground anyway for a different reason when someone taps him on the shoulder.

‘Hey.’

* * *

Liz had changed her mind at literally the last minute. Everything had been set; she had checked in her luggage, got her boarding pass and had even been sitting at the gate. Bringing up Metwork on her iPad for what she supposed was closure’s sake, she had then got an email in her inbox. It was from Inglis; thanking her for her contributions, expressing regret at her departure and wishing all the best in her future endeavours. It was polite, formal but, as far as she could tell, genuinely meant. She regretted that she hadn’t thought more highly of him at the beginning.

It was then that Mia had texted her, asking where she was.

_Heathrow. Flight’s going to leave in 30_

**Oh, we’re all going to miss you :(**

_Thanks, Mia_. Liz had paused here, unsure of how to proceed without sounding awkward. _I’m going to miss you, too._

**Sorry, this might be a bad time, but have you seen Finn?**

_Not recently. Not since my last day. Why?_

**He didn’t show up to work this morning**

Liz had been tempted to write: _Why not? He’s fucking Director of Comms now_

Instead she had gone for a simple: _???_

**It’s a record. Like Guinness Book of Records-worthy. I've phoned and texted him several times. Still no word**

A year ago, Liz would have gone for something like _Probably sleeping off the massive hangover after his celebratory dance with Satan and his demonic brethren_. But that was a year ago, 365-plus days have passed and a hell of a lot of things besides.

Liz had taken a deep breath, knowing that she might regret this, and texted Finn: _Where are you?_

His answer, three minutes later, had settled it.

**_Heathrow_ **

* * *

He can’t believe it. His brain is fucking with him, surely. Relief threatens to make him buckle at the knees, joy makes him want to burst into happy tears.

‘Why are you still here?’ is what tumbles out of his mouth and he actually manages to sound half-cross.

‘Why are you playing hooky on your first morning as Director of Comms?’ she fires back. ‘Can’t squeeze yourself into my size 9s?’

Finn pauses as if contemplating something. ‘Are we talking American or British shoe sizes? Because size 9s for women are bloody huge by UK standards.’

Liz thinks for a bit. ‘Size 6s then.’

‘I could manage.’

‘ _In heels_.’

He shrugs. ‘Still could.’

Liz suddenly has her arms around him, locking him in a tight hug. Overcoming his shock, he cranes his head a little in order to see her face. It’s turned away from him, which is Liz’s intent. She’ll punch him before he sees she has tears in her eyes. It works both ways.

‘You done with your impromptu tribute to _Love Actually_?’ he grumbles after a prolonged moment, although Liz can tell he isn’t complaining in the least. She’s also rather impressed that he’s watched the film.

‘You’re lucky I didn’t leap into your arms like Natalie did to the PM,’ she says, following on in this vein. ‘Which, for the record, you still aren’t. In any universe.’ Finn scoffs.

‘Good, because I would have dropped you. On purpose.’ She suppresses a laugh. ‘People are starting to stare, Liz.’

‘Fuck them.’

‘Thanks, but I would really prefer not to.’

‘But you’d still like to fuck me?’ questions Liz. She feels him inhale sharply and she releases him, but just enough to see his face.

‘Only if you’d like me to.’ His voice is unusually quiet. ‘If you want me to.’ Both of them pick up the unintended double entendre but say nothing. Finn continues in a forced, cavalier tone: ‘Also depends on where you want it. If it’s news to you, a quickie in an airport restroom will be a first.’

Before Liz can reply, someone comes over with her luggage which causes Finn’s heart to do multiple somersaults to the extent that it’s a wonder that he’s still standing. There’s no way she’s going to the States with all these suitcases being returned.

‘How much stuff do you have?’ Finn gives her largest suitcase an experimental lift. ‘What’s in here? Bricks? Printouts of all the photos from your TED Talk?’

‘No, it’s all the fucking pounds I collected each time you were a jerk,’ she deadpans. ‘Still are.’

He grunts, taking both her suitcases without a word.

‘Where are we going? Restroom? There’s one over there…’

‘As enticing the prospect is, I was thinking more of your place.’

Finn stops walking and turns to look at her, intently. A beat.

‘What? We can’t go to my place since I’ve moved out. Unless you want to break in and have the watchman, neighbours…and possibly my former landlord catch us having sex. Which will, admittedly, also be a first.’

‘So it means you’re moving in. With me,’ says Finn tonelessly, not betraying the fact that he’s imagined this moment hundreds of times in his head.

Liz shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yeah, I guess. Hate it?’

‘ _Loathe_ it,’ he replies, although he’s sabotaging his statement by smiling like an idiot. But then again, he always excelled in self-sabotage. Figures.

‘I’m sleeping on the couch at the moment as I’ve got some workmen making repairs to the first floor,’ he informs her. ‘There isn’t room for two, so you may end up on the floor.’

‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll soon have you down there with me,’ replies Liz smoothly. Finn chokes slightly, much to her deep satisfaction.

‘How are you going to explain my return to Charles?’ she asks, her mind returning to more practical matters. ‘There isn’t room for two Directors of Communications at Scotland Yard.’

‘You’re right, there isn’t,’ supplies Finn like a shot, unhelpfully.

Liz sighs. ‘I suppose I’ll have to check to see if Grant Delgado’s offer still stands. Probably have to curry favour with him but thankfully, he’s no Caroline Carey. I probably won’t need to cook a Thai curry or do a lap dance for him.’

Finn stops again. It’s getting slightly annoying, because she keeps on walking into him or her suitcase. At this rate she’s going to get bruises on her knees, if she hasn’t already.

‘Caroline wanted you to do a _lap dance_?’ he gapes.

‘Interesting that you decided to latch on to the lap dancing and not the other stuff. And _no_ , she didn’t.’

‘Shame,’ says Finn.

Liz is about to say something along the lines of ‘Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Asshole’. But apparently he hasn’t finished.

‘Because if she did, I would have slaughtered her.’

Liz’s chest constricts a little, a warm buzz permeating her. Perhaps catching himself, he adds with a devilish gleam in his eye, ‘Always up for that.’

She nods. ‘So am I.’ They share a smile but Finn’s own disintegrates when she steers the conversation back to Inglis.

‘There’s something you’re not telling me. What did you do this time?’ questions Liz, almost in resignation.

‘You make me sound like I’m a fucking five-year-old.’

‘I would have said three-year-old, but okay.’

‘Fuck you.’ Whereas a few minutes ago, he’d been unable to tear his eyes from her, Finn is now looking at anything and everything _but_ her.

‘Look, there’s no need to contact Delgado,’ he eventually snaps, irate, as if it’s being ripped from him.

‘Got me on the blacklist already? That was quick, even for you.’

Finn glances at her, irritated. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, there’s no blacklist. No Director of Comms…’

‘What?’

‘…apart from the one right here.’ He sighs. ‘And it isn’t me. It’s you. I’m going to ring Charles and tell him that you’re back.’

It’s now her turn to gape. ‘Finn,’ she says after a while. ‘You sure you haven’t been snorting coke? ‘Cause I don’t know whether you stumbled upon a hidden stash or something the last time you were at my…’

‘I haven’t even touched a drop of alcohol since your last…over the whole weekend. I’m completely sober if that counts for anything.’

Liz is now worrying her lower lip. Evidently it isn’t his sobriety which she’s doubting, it’s his sanity. Finn is tempted to either kiss her doubts away…or run away and out of the airport, which would be the far easier option. He does neither. Instead he takes out his phone – to prove the sincerity of his words but mostly because he fears losing his nerve – and dials Inglis.

Finn doesn’t know what he was expecting, possibly a dressing down about his lack of professionalism at the bare minimum. He’s quite certain, however, that he wasn’t prepared for how calm Inglis would be. In fact, he’s almost unnervingly composed and the temperature only threatens to rise a little when he points out what a shitstorm the media would have made of his unreleased press statement on Liz’s departure (which Finn has seen and held back from publication. He will never admit it, but out of all the press releases he’s buried, this is the one he’s most proud of burying).

‘Talk about _just_ dodging the bullet, Finn,’ reprimands Inglis severely. Though he can’t see him, Finn can imagine Inglis demonstrating how close they were on the other end…mere millimetres, probably.

Other than that, the Commissioner receives the news of Liz’s return with open arms. A year ago, this would have rankled him. Finn feels nothing but relief now.

The call ends and he nearly jumps when Liz says, ‘All good?’

‘Yeah.’ Finn clears his throat a little, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘Yeah, all good.’ He stares at his phone, dwelling on what he’s just done. ‘I guess this is what an abdication feels like.’

Liz groans. ‘Please don’t start making comparisons to Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson. I don’t think I can handle the bone-crushing irony.’

‘Oh, fucking hell, no,’ he agrees. They look at each other for a long, long time. But they can’t think of anything to say and so walk on.

When they reach the automatic doors, they halt as if in sync and turn abruptly, their brows furrowed in the effort of holding back and not wanting to any longer.

‘Liz –’ he starts.

‘Finn –’ she says at the same time.

Momentarily taken aback, they catch the other’s eye, expressing the sentiment which they can’t put into words despite the fact that it’s their job to deal with them.

 _Thank you_.


End file.
